


Birthdays and Dances

by AngeNoir



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:04:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/pseuds/AngeNoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Tail Section manages the horror of their reality and the terror of their lives, the uncertainty and the continual loss, by finding what small relief they can with what they can scrape together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthdays and Dances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VallyLilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VallyLilly/gifts).



> I hope it's okay!

His guilt didn’t really let him relax all that much. There was too much on his shoulders, too much relying on him. It also made him really uneasy with his current living situations, but he had never pretended to be a great person. Hell, there were plenty of people around who _knew_ intimately how horrible he really was when push came to shove.

Still, there were times of celebration, times when the back of the train did their best to find some good to hold and have, something that could take their minds off the cramped conditions, the tasteless blocks, the constant humiliation and degradation that came with each feeding time. The guards either didn’t care or were told to let them have their fun – certainly, they stamped their feet and sang their hearts out, holding dancing competitions and cheering on the young boys and girls who used the car as an obstacle course, to get to the end and earn three extra blocks of food for themselves.

In general, Curtis encouraged the small festivities whenever they popped up, because he knew that people needed a relief from the unrelenting despair that made up their daily life, but that didn’t make it easier for him to unbend. In some ways, it made it harder; he knew how fragile and false their celebrations were, and it made it hard for him to put it aside for any amount of time.

And always, always, he was driven to atone for what he had done in the past, what he had made of his future.

“You’re bringing down the _whole_ mood.”

Involuntarily, Curtis felt a flush of amusement and smothered his chuckle by ducking his head down and re-knotting the rag he was using to make a make-shift blanket, cobbled together from scraps of clothing that was too torn to be clothing anymore. “I’m not. I’m just a really bad dancer.”

Edgar was too young, a coltish fifteen year old with a bad case of hero worship that Curtis did not deserve. The entire tail section – or, well, it felt like the entire section – knew exactly who Curtis was. It was something that made him overly conscious of his every action, his every decision. Quite a few of the elders openly disapproved of Edgar’s closeness to Curtis. Edgar, of course, thought it was because of their age difference – Curtis was easily twice Edgar’s age, plus a few years – but Curtis, Curtis knew differently.

“You are. Here you are, hiding in your bunk, and everyone thinks there’s a problem. Something up. They worry when you worry.” Edgar’s eyebrows waggled overtly, still too inexperienced to be subtle about it. “So maybe you wanna hop on down and actually join the rest of us? Even Gilliam’s out there.”

Curtis licked his lips and stared at the rags in his hands. Life on the tail section was monotonous and repetitive, fixing and mending clothing using the meager supplies bestowed upon them by the ‘benevolent’ front, repairing the many, many things that broke down, and generally trying to keep things running smoothly. They didn’t have medicine, not really, which meant the sick needed constant care. The youngest children and the elderly needed minders, people to make sure they had what they needed. The rest of them deserved a break – which was why, at Gilliam’s prompting and Edgar’s enthusiasm, they had gathered together for some of the children’s birthdays. They had cracked open some of the reserves, brought out some blocks for the birthday children, and held races and pulled out some of the drums and musical instruments they had cobbled together from the refuse left in the far back of section. The adults and children were dancing, and Curtis knew there would be quite a few empty bunks tonight as people shared flop-spaces.

Curtis was aware that most of the people in the Tail Section looked to him as both leader and danger. He didn’t want to be there with them, sharing in their fun and meeting their gazes with what weighed on his mind…

But neither did he want to worry them unduly, especially when this celebration was supposed to bring up spirits and bring some small measure of relief to the monotony of daily life.

Heaving a sigh, he gathered up the rags and wormed his way out of his flop-space, down the line of bunks to the small aisles. In the corner, Gilliam and other elders sat in carefully constructed positions that wouldn’t put stress on limbs or bodies. The other adults were dancing up and down the small area that was clear, but even Curtis – blind, in general, to the intricacies of body language and mood – could tell there was a visible relaxation that spread around when he touched the floor.

Edgar was suddenly there, pushing a small piece of a block into his hands. Curtis opened his mouth to protest, but Edgar said severely, “Now, don’t you be refusing food, Curtis. Think what you’ll be teaching the children next.”

Curtis sighed and grinned ruefully. “Alright, Edgar. So, who won the race?”

That was all that was needed for Edgar to start eagerly recounting the various games they had played to test their skill and strength. Curtis listened attentively, and soon enough he had other children gathered around, vying to tell their version of the events, asking him questions.

As the evening wore on and children grew sleepy, older siblings or friends came to gather the tired children and place them to bed. Edgar wiggled his way to Curtis’s side, leaning heavily against the older man, and Curtis tried not to take pleasure in that feeling of warmth and closeness that Edgar’s presence gave him. Eventually, Curtis was left alone save for the solid presence of Edgar pressed against his side, and he watched the older adults start to drift away. The few that remained were dancing without the benefit of musicians anymore, soft and slow, and Curtis could almost pretend it was like before, before the train and before the death and before the horror he had seen these past years.

Gilliam paused next to them, and Curtis looked up to see Grey watching Edgar.

“You ought to find a place to sleep,” Gilliam murmured. “I’m glad you came down to join us.”

“I don’t really have the right,” Curtis whispered, too soft for anyone except Grey and Gilliam, and perhaps Edgar, to hear.

Gilliam shook his head and leaned on Grey a little more to whisper into Curtis’s ear, “Atonement is all well and good, son, but if it prevents you from living your life and finding happiness, you aren’t atoning. You’re wallowing in your guilt and never growing.”

Curtis’s eyes involuntarily slid over to the mop of Edgar’s hair, underneath his arm.

“You get a good night’s rest, son,” Gilliam murmured before Grey lifted him up and helped him to the back of the section.

“Edgar,” Curtis grunted, and Edgar grumbled against Curtis’s chest.

Curtis jostled his shoulder a little, shaking the younger teenager, and Edgar huffed and muttered.

“C’mon, Edgar,” Curtis sighed, carefully standing up and helping the sleepy teen to his feet. “Let’s get some rest.”


End file.
